


My Winters With You

by LilyRosetheDreamer



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: DA Secret Santa, Fluff, Gen, I really hope everyone enjoys this!, M/M, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!, Satinalia, Secret Santa 2019, some characters are only mentioned in passing, winter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyRosetheDreamer/pseuds/LilyRosetheDreamer
Summary: Satinalia is a cold yet festive time of year and there are many ways to celebrate. The Inquisition, despite the threat hanging over its head, is no different.
Relationships: Adoribull, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31
Collections: Actually Adoribull Fic





	My Winters With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scribblestuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribblestuff/gifts).



> Hello everyone! This is a Secret Santa gift that I took part in with the DA Discord server that I’m with – dragon EYYYYYYge! My person was Scribblestuff so I REALLY hope you enjoy this, my dear! She wanted the Inquisition Inner Circle celebrating Satinalia so I’ve done my best to oblige! Merry Christmas, everyone and sorry this wasn’t done in time for Christmas Day. :/

**My Winters with You (Are Never the Same).**

The mountains around Skyhold are usually snow-touched, bringing with them a chill that cups many cheeks with icy hands. In winter, however, the chill becomes a cold so deep that it freezes the very bones, driving people indoors or compelling them to work outdoors faster so they can escape inside as quickly as possible. Their thoughts are chilled too, sluggish and single-minded – the room for hurt lessens.

Cole likes winter for the stillness, the flakes of snow falling against the crystal backdrop of the winter moon. He likes watching the living hurry about their daily lives while his breath fogs like the steamy breath of a dragon in the air. He also enjoys watching the spirits that reside in the castle walls interact with winter. Some are younger than he so they approach it with childish curiosity and delight, twirling with the flakes and approaching those that catch their attention to place cold fingers on red noses or breathing down covered necks, giggling away when said person shivers and huddles into their thick clothing. There is no malice in these actions, not compared to the newly dead. Cole watches over them with a warier eye, seeing many staring at the Satinalia preparations with sad yet passive acceptance, remembering when they too were alive to share the joyous warmth. Others wail and add to the moaning wind that amplifies their sorrow while others still grow angry and try to interfere.

Cole moves among them, comforting some and gently nudging others into the Fade. It makes no sense that they should spend their death in eternal suffering, so he doesn’t let them.

It’s that simple.

He helps the living too because, despite the winter celebrations, pain doesn’t stop completely. He gives the cat and her kittens behind the turnip sacks in the kitchen extra food, adds cream to the cook’s hot cocoa to give it comfort and tells the robins to hop closer to the children with the seeds. The coos and laughter bring a smile to his face and a tip of his hat in satisfaction. The Inquisitor also gets slightly misshapen socks by their fireplace and Dorian finds a pretty scarf in the library (the merchant sold so many colours, it had been difficult to choose) and a smiling Cole crouched on the bookshelf. If Sera suspects he’s diverting some of her pranks, she says nothing.

This is his Satinalia (his first proper since the Circle) and Cole won’t have it any other way.

He’ll add a sip of mulled wine with Krem and Maryden to his list though.

* * *

The Iron Bull finds Satinalia interesting (and a good excuse for indulgent behaviour but that’s neither here nor there). Many don’t realise how much you can learn about a person based on what and how they celebrate, when they just let go. He sees Leliana more than usual, flitting here and there akin to her ravens on the battlements and thinks she probably knows how to take advantage of this time of year too. It’s always the red-heads people should watch out for. Vivienne courts and dines in extravagant decadence with so many nobles, even he has trouble keeping count; but the goods that they provide afterwards means that Satinalia can be celebrated in style thanks to her cunning. It doesn’t appear to be much of a hardship to her either.

He’s celebrated Satinalia many times over with the Chargers and it’s vastly different to how it’s shared in the Qun. Many factions within the Qun barely acknowledge it with most of the celebrations being left to the Tamassrans and their young charges, though it’s mostly quiet with focus on being thankful for being part of something greater than oneself and how a qunari can give to the Qun.

His Tama let them decorate their sleeping quarters one year when she taught them about the history of Satinalia. That had been nice.

He remembers the way her hands smoothed his head (the horns soft stubs back then) the same way he remembers most things about the Qun these days - with a dull ache.

It doesn’t matter now; Satinalia with the Chargers is infinitely better, especially when the drinking starts (Rocky trying to make fireworks while drunk is still the funniest fucking thing he’s ever witnessed). Besides, this year he has an extra person on board in a way he never did previously.

Bull pauses in his gift-wrapping, eyes drawn to the snoozing figure tucked into his bed. His lips quirk upwards as Dorian sighs in his sleep, a hand resting limply on a cracked, leather bound book. He’ll have to put that away and settle the mage properly before they can both truly sleep through the night, but Dorian napping right now is extremely helpful. Bull glances at the present he’s currently wrapping in plain brown paper. The gold from the cuff flickers in the candlelight, pleasant to look at and beautifully crafted. He just hopes Dorian will accept it; the mage has great difficulty in receiving presents (fucking Tevinter and their two-faced motives). It sets Bull’s heart pulsing in sympathy (his Kadan who fucking knew?) every time.

He’ll teach Dorian that gifts are usually just that among the common folk. Maybe then the man will rest easier.

For now, he turns back to the presents. He has tags to write and he’ll put puns on every single one if it kills him.

(“Hey, you want some whipped **_Krem_** on this?” Bull asks the next afternoon as he pours cocoa for Dalish and Grim. Krem groans and throws brown paper at his back and Bull smirks.)

* * *

Varric always sends letter to the gang at Satinalia. It seems especially important this year, what with the world potentially ending and all. Hawke at least is staying for the celebrations, carousing in the halls and tavern with his usual vigour. It’s a distraction, a time to put the events of Adamant aside and Varric couldn’t be more grateful.

“Varric!” said Champion yells brightly over the din of Bull, his Chargers and Sera. There’s a sad-looking woollen hat topped with holly sat on his black hair and Varric can’t help but snigger.

“You’re all rowdy today, must be Satinalia or something,” he jokes as he pulls up a seat next to Hawke. “Save some of the alcohol for the festival!”

Hawke laughs, pulling him into a one-armed hug. Sera scoffs from the opposite side of the table but beams anyway, cheeks already pink from drinking. The air is perfumed with the scent of mulled wine and spiced mead and the fire creates dancing shadows on the walls. Wreaths decorate the windows and there are even mistletoe branches hanging from the ceiling. The Herald’s Rest is packed in a show of comradeship that the Hanged Man could never reproduce.

“Satinalia lasts all winter in my opinion!” Hawke says brightly and slides a wooden cup over.

“Josie would agree with you on that,”

It feels good, seeing his favourite people relaxing and having a good time, but there’s always something missing. This time round, it’s the rest of their rag tag group from Kirkwall and the dwarf wonders for the umpteenth time how they’re all doing.

“Hey, tell us a story!”

There’s cheering at the request and more people start to gather round their table.

He sighs. Yeah, this will do.

He leans back in his chair and starts to regale the small crowd with his favourite stories.

The world may be ending so it’s the least he can offer.

* * *

All three advisors and Cassandra are huddled with the Inquisitor round the big bonfire that’s going up in the courtyard. They seem to be discussing last minute checks for Satinalia, but Blackwall isn’t paying much attention if he’s honest.

(Which he usually isn’t.)

Cole and Sera are hanging around the stables as well, Sera grudgingly keeping within talking distance of the spirit as she puts some sort of sticky substance (he doesn’t want to know) in jars and Cole absently twirling one of his numerous knives.

“That one should be blue,” he abruptly says and Blackwall frowns, one hand rubbing his beard as he contemplates the toy rabbit on the workbench.

“I was planning to make it a bit more festive, lad,”

“You can,” Cole acknowledges. “But some of the children prefer blue. Put snowflakes on it, they play and stick their tongues out, hoping it will stay forever,”

Blackwall rubs the wooden head and nods.

“Good call, Cole. Thank you,”

Cole nods and leans down, his fingers pressing into the snow as though he is feeling the vibrations of the earth. Blackwall takes no notice, used to the spirit’s odd ways and goes back to carving, his tools chiselling snowflakes carefully. He’ll paint them a delicate silver –

“Oi!”

Sera’s shriek of surprise makes him glance up, ready to tell her to close her mouth so he can continue working, but he stops short, gaping.

Cole, in a rare show of mischief, has neatly tucked snow down the back of Sera’s tunic. She’s sputtering as she hops up and down, slapping at the offending snow to try and brush it off. Blackwall starts to laugh hoarsely in shock.

“What the piss was _that_ for?!” she demands, shuddering as it slides down her back and Cole honest to Maker grins.

“You were getting bored,” he says slowly like it should be obvious and he deliberately bends down again.

“Okay one. Don’t look into my head, Creepy! And two…”

Quick as a flash, she’s scooping up snow and chucking it at him, only to receive snow in her hair for her troubles.

“I thought you were quicker than _that_!” Cole taunts, one eyebrow raised and smile blinding.

Damn, Satinalia really _does_ affect everyone.

Sera cackles and throws a snowball, tutting as Cole ducks out of the way smoothly.

“You’re on!”

It hits Blackwall’s leg instead.

For a second, there’s silence.

Then he turns slowly, ominously as they both freeze. On one hand, he needs to get these toys finished.

But he hasn’t let loose in a while and they did interrupt him. It almost reminds him of his sister and how they would play back home.

Fuck it.

“You’re in for it now,” he growls and they both run for cover in glee as he starts grabbing as much snow as he can.

* * *

Satinalia in Tevinter is…different than what Dorian has observed in the south. For starters, there is no freezing snow that refuses to relinquish its horrible hold until he’s safely by a roaring fire.

That doesn’t mean that it is a warm affair back home, however.

When Dorian was a boy, Satinalia meant many opulent balls and frigid dinners, all heaped with a side of sly backtalk and disappointment when his parents left the house yet again. Blood didn’t cease to be spilled just because it was a holiday either. His mother and father gave him present after present, a show of their wealth and power rather than actually wanting to spoil him (though perhaps his father may have once) and yet gave so little of their time – he would end up playing with his new toys under the watchful eye of his nanny instead.

When he grew older, Satinalia usually meant cold silences and plenty of drinking.

Dorian shakes himself from his reverie, bringing himself back to the silent present as he wanders through Skyhold. There’s a package burning a hole in his coat pocket and Solas is calmly taking in the Satinalia décor beside him.

“Such tradition has lasted longer than I expected,” he announces, pointing briefly at a garland with his staff as they pass. “My time in the Fade showed me many ancient traditions from the elves and other civilisations throughout the centuries and that is the oldest,”

“Did those traditions include being cold?” Dorian grumbles and Solas smiles, indulging Dorian by laying a warming spell upon his navy-clad arm.

Dorian sighs, blinking up at the stars as they reach the courtyard where many voices sing and chatter.

“Thank you,”

“You are welcome,”

Solas takes his leave, moving to stand next to Cassandra and Varric by the bonfire built earlier in the week. For now, the warming spell will most likely hold so Dorian traverses the snow and ends up at a long oak table packed to the brim with food and drink. Someone is sprinkling soap flakes on to some cake, grinning wildly as they turn and give it to their friend. The ensuing spitting and swearing causes an uproar in laughter and Dorian’s lips turn in vague amusement before he pours himself some spiced mead and downs it in one go.

Sera’s been pranking since dawn and somehow, miraculously, Dorian managed to avoid the prank she set up for him, much to her vast disappointment. He doesn’t doubt she’ll find a way to get him eventually.

“You’re pretty quiet, Kadan,”

Dorian leans back, trusting Bull to take him in his arms (and when did THAT happen, when did it sweep the rug out from under his feet?) and relishes the extra warmth.

“Everyone else is being loud enough already, though with my dashing temperament I’m sure that can be remedied in no time,” he says casually, despite his thumping heart. Bull beams down at him.

Bull does many things to his foolish heart.

His gloved hand slips into his pocket, caressing the package briefly before he pulls it out.

“I know this is probably a bit early in the evening, but uh, here, for you,” he tries, stumbling over a word or two.

Gift giving is something he’s not so familiar with, something that always meant favours and some sort of blackmail, so he just wants to get this over with before his heart falls out of his chest on to the floor. There’s a growing knot of nerves and slight excitement in his stomach as Bull blinks at it and starts unwrapping, curiosity evident on his face.

“It’s not a real dragon’s tooth,” he says quietly when Bull opens the box and stares down silently. “I – I know that a real dragon’s tooth is better, I suppose but going after a dragon is ridicu -!”

Bull pulls him into his arms and kisses him hard, stealing all the air from his lungs. Dorian wraps a hand round the back of the qunari’s thick neck as best he can, stroking the warm skin tentatively. Public affection is still frightening, still full of unknowns, but it’s Satinalia, he can let Bull do this one thing, can’t he?

“Dawnstone!” The Iron Bull rumbles in approval when they break apart, ignoring some of the sneaky catcalls and whistling. “Fucking DAWNSTONE, Kadan! I love it!”

And he truly does, his one eye glittering in the firelight with boyish delight. Dorian’s heart swells and suddenly he has a lump in his throat.

“Good,” he blusters hastily, his gaze avoiding his lover for a moment. “Because I’m not replacing it nor am I going out to fight a bloody dragon because that is, before you rudely interrupted, ridiculous! And you’d better not try it either, I’m not running after you to rescue you!”

Bull grins, showing all his teeth.

“You wouldn’t need to rescue me because it would be the most awesome fight you’ve ever seen,”

“I’m swooning already,” Dorian mumbles sarcastically and Bull laughs, plucking some food and placing it on a plate he deftly picks from the table.

“Get some food in you, big guy, this night is only getting _started_ ,” he said huskily in Dorian’s ear and Dorian buries his face in Bull’s arm as children run past them screeching from a man chasing them with a strange animal mask on his face.

“So crude,”

But this is the happiest he’s ever been on Satinalia. As the crowd starts to react in awe to an aurora bursting through the night sky, the Inquisitor catches his eye opposite and winks.

Dorian lifts his face upwards and leans into Bull’s side in content.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Scribble! You’re a lovely person and I’m so glad to have met you! I hope this has rewarded your hard work this year. And to the rest of the readers of my other works, thank you for the support! Have a lovely New Year and may 2020 be better.  
> Love Lily


End file.
